


Miles To Go

by Mandergee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Episode: s01e19 The Only Light in the Darkness, mostly a mention of Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandergee/pseuds/Mandergee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He told her to find somewhere else to be, and she did. Where did Melinda May wind up, after leaving the safety of Providence Base? What were the next steps?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles To Go

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be incorporated with a shorter piece, but once I'd written I felt like it did better standing alone. So here it is, a lovely little one shot. There may be a companion piece later, but only if I think it fits well.

“Coffee, please. Black.” She rarely drank coffee, but the sudden deep longing for the comfort of wrapping her hands around a warm ceramic mug had necessitated ordering _something,_ and the limited selection of beverages had left her with little choice. Coffee would keep her fueled, alert, and as she'd trudged through the softly falling snow it had begun to become clear to her that if she hadn't found something soon, she'd be losing her battle against fatigue. Sleeping in trees was a survival technique she wasn't overly fond of, and her duffel held little by way of items for her to power the hike through Canadian wilderness. It had taken hours to find even a touch of civilization, and even as she scanned the interior of the diner with it's attached gas station she was acutely aware that she was still very much on the edge of it.

“Here you go, eh?” The waitress barely glanced at her, curiosity more so aimed toward the thick duffel bag at her feet, and May nudged the large bundle further beneath the table with the toe of her boot. She nodded at the woman as she did, allowing the briefest smile, and threaded her fingers through the handle of the sturdy brown mug, letting the warmth leech into her chilled skin. It wasn't just the temperature that left her chilled to the bone, she admitted to herself, recalling the last words that Phil had said to her before he'd left with the others- the last glance over his shoulder that had left her feeling the wound his words had caused. She'd done it all for him, she'd told herself repeatedly, but as he'd stated his feelings in black and white she wondered how much of what she'd done had really been for herself.

“Thanks.” The woman moved away, practical shoes squeaking softly on worn linoleum, and May took the chance to scan the room again, watching the few patrons scattered about at tables topped with cracked formica laminate. It reminded her of childhood visits to her cousin Oren as he worked as a short order cook in Manhattan, where she could remember running her fingers over the warped surfaces, tracing patterns that seemed so random yet were exactly the same on every table. She'd wondered who had sat there first, what other children's clumsy fingers had run over the cracks and shapes leaving their skin cells behind to join hers days, weeks, months later.

Oren had always given her hot chocolate, with enough whipped cream to earn a disapproving stare from her mother. Somehow Mama had never forced her to give it back, and she'd enjoyed it with a fervor she missed desperately as an adult, along with the innocence of childhood. Childhood was long gone, and she contemplated just how much of it, looking back, was really as innocent as she remembered.

She sipped the tepid liquid and surveyed the crowd again, eyes landing this time on a small child a few tables down whose stare was unwavering and just on the side of disconcerting. It wasn't often she _found_ the stares of other people to be anything other than on the cusp of slightly frustrating, and as she considered the pair of inquisitive blue eyes she realized it was the naivety she found most unnerving, with the slight hint of curiosity dancing within. Here was someone who was watching her because they had no preconceptions of who she was and what she did, no hidden agenda that would reveal them as HYDRA or a member of a clandestine government agency when the time came to tip their hand. She doubted there was anyone in the diner who was a member of _any_ organization save for the NGA or a local maple syrup appreciation group, and given their place in the middle of nowhere combined with the heavy presence of red plaid and orange hunting caps, her suspicions leaned heavily toward the former.

Maybe, she thought, she should get herself outfitted the same, to avoid any detection as she made her way to her intended destination. Wherever that was- she hadn't yet figured out her plan, and that was nearly as unsettling as the still focused gaze of the young girl whose face was now smeared liberally with maple syrup. She currently struggled to lick same from the surface of a round, yellow plastic plate, all the while keeping her eyes aimed toward the woman in black. Coulson had once teased her about that, her aversion to color, and while she'd known she could simply dismiss him with a comment about its tactical advantage, she'd instead given him a saucy grin and shot back with a retort about _his_ choice of unobtrusive neck wear. ' _Why not shake it up, add some polka dots_?'

' _Says the woman who could wield all the power of one Asgardian temptress in just a red dress'_. He'd seen her in red once, she remembered, and imagined it was that single undercover mission that stood out in his mind as she'd suspected at that moment he'd been mentally placing her back in that dress. In all the years she'd known him she'd hardly ever worn color, and she could never remember a time he'd looked at her with even a hint of desire more than he had at that moment.

It was going to be time to move on soon, she reasoned, staring down into the dregs of coffee that swirled in the bottom of her mug as she twisted her fingers around the handle and lifted it for the final sip. It wouldn't be as rejuvenating, those last cold drops, but she'd take anything she could get for the trip. A prepaid cell sat ready, in the cargo pocket on her thigh, and she hoped her mother would answer the call from an unrecognizable Canadian number- if she could even pick up signal in this godforsaken solitude.

“Here you go, hon. It's on the house. Getting cold out there- you'll need this for the walk.” She imagined it had been the heavy concentration of snow in her hair and on her shoulders that gave away her lack of transportation, and the unexpected kindness of the needed coffee gave her hope, while the to-go cup placed at her elbow gave her reason to smile again.

“Appreciate it.” Once her coat was pulled on and the hood drawn up to cover her head, May dug into her pocket to withdraw the phone and dial the familiar number, breath visible as she stepped out into the slowly falling snow. There was enough privacy outside to avoid being heard, everyone else choosing the relative warmth of the slowly emptying diner, and she nearly sighed with relief as the familiar voice picked up on the other end. “Mama?”

“ _Qiaolian.”_ Never did her mother call her anything but her middle name, long ago stating that it had been her father whose decision gave her the name Melinda, while Mama much preferred Qiaolian and it's meaning of 'skillful always', as she was 'skillful like her mother, but gentle like her father. Somehow she'd always thought that her mother had found her father's kindness weak, and fallible, and she'd found herself hiding her own softer side as much as possible when her mother was present. “ _Where are you?”_

“Canada. I think I'm heading toward Ontario- I need you to come and get me.” She'd called her mother because she knew there was no one else she could trust unconditionally, no one else who trusted _her_ as much as her mother ever would, and that was something she needed at that moment as badly as she'd needed the fuel to push forward. _“_ Mama...Mom. Please.”

There must have been something in her voice, she imagined, as the sigh that came from the other end of the line was resigned, understanding even in its exasperation.

 _“I'm on my way, Qiaolian. And when I arrive you can explain to me what it is that left me as your only option._ ” There was an abrupt click, and she imagined her mother in Pennsylvania, shaking her head as she placed the phone back on its cradle and began the preparations for a nearly five hundred mile drive to pick up her only child. Only child who was desperately in need, although she hadn't wanted to say just how desperate it was. ' _It was enough',_ she could almost hear her mother saying reproachfully _, 'that you would call me at all, for me to be aware of the urgency_.'

' _Or sometimes'_ , she imagined Sif saying, perched on the edge of the interrogation table _, 'even the fiercest of warriors need their mother.'_

The snow was falling faster as she took to the side of the road, grey sky slowly turning black as the sun began to set, and she spotted a sign that told her Ontario was still thirty miles away. It brought to mind Robert Frost, the only poet she knew Coulson was overly fond of, and the few phrases she recalled came to mind as she trudged steadily through the thick, white flakes. It would take some time for her to get there, and thinking of what she sought for him gave her the push to keep on.

' _The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep...'_

_'And miles to go...before I sleep.'_


End file.
